


going soft and selling out

by Rosyredlipstick



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Found Family, Platonic Relationships, References to Sex and Drugs, Shifting Timeline, Teenage Pregnancy, Unaccepting Parent, single parent, supportive friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 23:58:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12971235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosyredlipstick/pseuds/Rosyredlipstick
Summary: Vidalia is in the guest bathroom at the Fish Stew Pizzeria when she finds out she is pregnant. It’s a Thursday. She’s nineteen, wearing her favorite shirt, and ignoring her mother’s calls.She is only nineteen.





	going soft and selling out

Vidalia is in the guest bathroom of the Fish Stew Pizzeria when she finds out she is pregnant. It’s a Thursday. She’s nineteen, wearing her favorite shirt, and ignoring her mother’s calls.

She is only nineteen.

* * *

When she was in elementary school, their shitty school library received a donation of used books from a local bookstore going out of business.

In it was a book of names. Her classmates and she had poured over the book for hours, each looking up their own names, their parents names, their siblings names, and every name they could think of.

Vidalia’s name was Latin, apparently, and it was deprived from the word for life.

Her mother frowned when she had told her, instead questioning why Vidalia hadn’t been studying during library time, but her father had only laughed, throwing his head back, and told her that that made sense. _You see,_ he explained in that secret way he did, where he lowered his voice, bended his back, and acted like he was telling her the most important thing in the world. _You see, when your mom was pregnant with you, you never stopped moving. Always jumping and kicking and running._ He smiled at her, ruffling her hair, _you’ve always had a lot of life in you, doll._

That was before Joe Miller had one too many midnight beers and took his rusted Chevy out for a too fast joy ride. Before the funeral, and the move from the only place she’d ever called home.

Before she was left alone with her mother.

It was those names that were running through her head as she stared down at the double lines on the white stick. She was folded down on the dirty tile of the bathroom but she couldn’t find it herself to mind. She just been staring at the white stick, already knowing, for the past two minutes. She hadn’t even wash her hands yet.

She gives herself ten minutes. Ten minutes to stare at the wall, not cry into her hands, to sit on that dirty ass floor. And then she stands.

She stands, washes her hands, wraps the test in toilet paper and throws it away, and returns to her table at the Pizzeria. Her paper drug store bag is still there, with the receipt a wrinkled mess half hanging out.

She takes a breath, pulls the free ice water closer to herself, and tries to find the cheapest thing on the menu to calm her turning stomach.

Breadsticks, without sauce, it turns out. And when she glances up, Nanefua is standing there, quietly looking down at her. Vidalia has no idea how long she’d been standing there.

Nanefua continued to stand at her table, a slice of pizza on the tray balanced in her capable hands. She observed Vidalia for a long moment.

“I didn’t order…” Vidalia trailed off. She cleared her throat, “I didn’t order anything.”

Nanefua placed the paper plate in front of her, giving her a considering look. Vidalia had to swallow against the bile in her throat. Pizza - good pepperoni pizza, her favorite food pizza - had never disgusted her more. She swallowed her gag.

“Your mother know?”

Vidalia froze, her hands clenching at the plastic covered table. The other woman was considering, neutral, her head only slightly cocked.

Vidalia didn’t try to play dumb. She began ripping up the paper napkins into a confetti mess, her hands needing something to do. “Not yet.”

Nanefua nodded like she was expecting this answer. “Tell her. A mother will always figure it out.”

Vidalia bit her tongue. It wouldn’t do good for her sarcasm to make another enemy of her in this town, especially not of the Pizza family. She said nothing and, after a long moment, Nanefua dipped back behind the counter.

Nanefua shuffled around the back area for another few moments before emerging yet again, holding out a fat, large pink bottle.

“Afia is having twins,” she explained, like she and the entirety of Beach City hadn’t already heard when Kofi broke out into tears, celebrating with a two-for-one pizza slice special. Afia, Vidalia had noticed, had been entirely too still and quiet that night, as half the town crowded into the restaurant for cheap food and loud toasts. Nanefua shook the bottle impatiently, bringing her back to attention.

Vidalia blinked down at the brightly colored bottle, “Won’t she…” Vidalia trailed off, her eyes looking up to the other woman. “Won’t she need them?”

Nanefua only shrugged. “I am getting older. I misplace things. Kofi can pick up more.” She pushed the bottle into Vidalia’s hands, standing to her full height, which wasn’t much. “You come by, you hear? Always pizza for you.” She gave Vidalia a stern look, even as her hands went white knuckled around the bottle.

Vidalia could only nod in face of that look. The prenatal vitamins -- the nice ones, the ones they kept lined up behind a locked glass case in the drug store on the bad part of town -- were now pressing marks into her soft palms.

* * *

Two weeks later, after rushing out of dinner when her mother’s sauerkraut made her gag into the trashcan, she finally tells her mother. She tells her about Marty, his job, those hours spent with him two and a half months ago. She cries, and sobs, and eventually does throw up into the kitchen sink.

Her mom kicks her out with a dag of a cigarette and twenty minutes to pack her things.

She leaves her paint supplies. It all wouldn’t fit in her only backpack leftover from her ten minutes at the local high school, and it seems she won’t have much time for art come a few months.

But she packs some clothes, her favorite wrinkled blanket, a hairbrush and whatever else will fit in the side pockets. She steals her mother’s rolled up bundle of dollar bills, the one she’s always kept in the bottle right drawer of her jewelry box, and high tails out of there before she realizes.

She walks for nearly twenty minutes until she realizes she has absolutely no where to go.

No family. Not much money. No friends.

She cut herself off short as she came into the beach parking lot, not even realizing that’s where she was heading. Music, loud but good music, was drifting out. Greg Universe’s van was parked there, not even attempting to stay within the yellow lines.

She swallowed and clenched at her bag.

Universe himself was half out of the open back doors of his van, his legs draped out as he leaned back and sang along to some stupid song.

He was cute, in a sweet way. Not her type at all. She took a few steps forward.

“Vidalia!” Universe was always a bit too perky for her tastes. Not Rock Star style at all. “It’s good to see you! What can I do for ya?”

“‘Sup Universe,” She stared at the expand of sand just beyond his shoulder, her voice bored. “Mind if I crash here for a bit?”

“In the van?” He jumped up, boyishly excited. “Sure, Vid! Oh, you gotta see my sweet setup, I’ve figured out how to hook up a TV _and_  a VHS player in here.” He puffed out his chest in pride, “ _And_ I’ve got the latest season of _Lil' Butler.”_

She tried not to visibly wrinkle in relief. She lingered by the open back door for another moment, shifting her weight. “Will your space goddess care?”

She didn’t really care in regards to their relationship, mostly just to know if she had to keep on an eye on her own back. A warning was rare, but nice.

“Rose?” He seemed to beam and laugh with just the pronunciation of her name, “Oh, definitely not. She’s not like that.”

That was probably a lie. Or maybe that’s what he actually thought. But Vidalia had never met someone who wasn’t just a little bit ‘like that’. Not even his dream girl from the cosmos could be above jealousy.

But she only nodded, a single crisp dipping of her chin, before throwing her bag down. It was kind of a sweet set up for a van. “You still got that Quentin Tarantino box set?”

He wrinkled his nose, but reached for his stack of tapes, “God, do you have to like violence so much?”

She crawled in the back, settling on the small twin, and kept her gaze forwards, towards the small television, as he set it up.

She had gotten pregnant in this backseat. Marty hadn’t wanted to spare the bills for a hour rent at the nearby motel, and she had been too horny and dumb to really care. Universe had been crowing away at his microphone while they’d done it, singing to no one on the beach.

She was dumb for believing he’d ‘handle it’ like he promised as he slid his hand down her pants, too stupid to listen out for the tear of foil and the handling of rubber.

He finally got the movie going, already going on about hidden easter eggs, and she let her mind drift into his mindless rambling like being wrapped up in a soft blanket.

Greg had never turned her away from that shitty van, not once. He’d let her sleep on the single thin mattress and patted her back when she threw up on the curb, went and got her french fries when her feet were too swollen to stuff into her sneakers. He’d always grin just slightly, wave her off, and say _always for you, Vid._

Months later, when the things to her name aren’t just a backpack and empty bank account, when it’s better and she has a heater she can turn on whenever she wants, and food in her fridge, she very quietly asks Greg if he wants a place to crash.

And, in typical Greg fashion, he only responds in a slightly confused voice, “I’ve already got a place, Vid.”

He never saw it - what he did for her - as a big deal, not really, but Vidalia could never see it as anything but. That’s why when he knocks on her door, that sheepish smile in place, she never turn him away, even if he teases on her going soft. She bitches about him eating her favorite cereal, or leaving the toilet up, or putting the milk back empty, but she always lets him in. She washes his shirt, lets him take too much time in the shower while using up the good soap, and buys those gross chips of his at the gas station.

She doesn’t know how to say thank you, not really, but maybe she could do this.

Marty was right; Greg wasn’t cut out to be a super star. He was too kind for that.

He was the third person she told, and also the only one to grin when she did so.

“I’m pregnant,” she mostly explained as she gagged around the greasy burgers he had brought back from the boardwalk. He was still riding on Marty’s last tour check and had insisted. “Four months.”

“Oh,” he blinked once, twice, before grinning widely. “Wow, Vid! A baby! Congrats!”

He was also the only person to congratulate her during her entire pregnancy. 

“It’s Marty’s,” she’d tell him a bit blankly later that night, a bottle of orange juice split between them. Greg was taking his with a shot, giggling happily under his breath, and Vidalia was more amused by it then she would have thought.

There was a beat of silence after that and, for once, Greg didn’t automatically grin or laugh or beam with positivity. “Oh,” he grimaced, “that’s...too bad.”

“Yeah,” she gave him a nonchalant shrug. She had a reputation to uphold, after all. “Too bad.”

There was a long stretch of silence, Greg taking another shot, and Vidalia kept her gaze trained out the rolled down window, the waves splashing against the sand.

“I can…” Greg trailed off, sitting up a bit to ruffle through his things. After a moment of plastic CD cases clashing together, paper trash thrown around, he turned back to her. “I have his business card with, um, his number. If you want.”

Vidalia stared down at the small white rectangle. It was plain, just a star logo and information neatly printed across. She swallowed, her voice going soft. “Yeah, okay.”

* * *

She’d already called three times, using all the quarters piled up in Greg’s cup holder, and he hadn’t answered once.

The line was still in use, the first time she’d called the voicemail box was full and the next, it was ready for her message. Someone was checking it, clearing out the messages, ignoring or missing her.

She left a simple, short message that could honestly only mean one thing when a quick hookup from months ago calls. _It’s Vidalia from Beach City. It’s important._

She was leaving the third call - straight to voicemail this time, not even ringing for a second - when she paused. Listened to the talk drifting out from the board walk. Hung up and went home.

Afia Pizza gave birth to twin girls last month, or so the old gossiping women on the boardwalk had said. And last week, she’d gotten on the lone bus to Empire City with only a backpack and purse and no one had see. The babies were wrinkled, red, screaming their little heads off, and attached to the hip from day one. Afia, it seemed, shared no such attachment.

Vidalia was five months into her pregnancy and spent most of her time in Greg’s van working her way through his VHS tape collection. But that didn’t stop her from donning her sandals, her flip-flops being the only shoes that would fit her balloon feet nowadays, and making her away across town after only a few hours of contemplation.

The Pizzeria was dark, and the front door locked, but that had never been much of a problem with Vidalia and her bobby pins. The Pizza family lived above the shop after all, everyone knew that.

It only took barely a minute bend over the small lock - honestly, they should probably invest in better security - before the metal was popping open, the bell above the door ringing. She glanced around - still empty, dark, and deserted. She had gotten a bit more familiar with the place since that Thursday all those months ago. Nanefua was always glad to serve her a slice, pushing more of those vitamins into her hands as Videlia swelled up. The staircase to the apartment above was just beyond the backroom, near the guest bathroom.

There was sound coming from the staircase, a voice, and she headed up that way, only cursing stairs a bit along the way. She had never been up here before.

A small living room, with a hallway that broke off to the side. An even smaller kitchen, and a room that was either a closet or the most pathetic attempt at another bedroom.

Kofi was there, babies held to his chest, looking at her. There was no question or confusion, no anger or concern in his gaze. A blank gaze, as he stared at her.  

“Where’s Nanefua?” She hadn’t been expecting him to be alone. She had honestly been expecting to show up, and almost immediately start being ordered around by the older woman.

Kofi only stared at her blankly for a long moment before swallowing. “She went to the store. Afia said she didn’t want to use formula so we didn’t stock up on any, but now…” His stare was still unnervingly blank, “We don’t have anything to give to the girls.”

His eyes were red, his cheeks the same. When he spoke, it was with a scratchy voice. He blinked at her a few times, as if acknowledging, remembering, she was there. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “The shop is not open today.”

“Clearly,” she could barely resist the urge to roll her eyes, only holding out her hands. Nanefua wasn’t here, so it looked like she had to go off book for this. “Hand ‘em over, Pizza.”

He stared empty at her, only coming back to Earth when the baby in his right arm begin fussing. He turned to her, bouncing his arm, and making soft, pleading noises.

He had baby vomit down the back of his shirt, along with probably a thousand different stains. He had, obviously, been crying. He and the babies had been sharing in activities, then.

She threw her shoulders back, ignoring the tightening of fabric as she did so - it wasn’t like she could afford any good clothes from the maternity shop the next town over, alright? - and stepped forward, taking the babies without much hesitation.

They cooed and fussed for a quick moment after being jostled, making her hold her breath in anticipated. But, after shifting closer to her warmth and softness, they quieted down, their soft flower petal eyes staying close.

Kofi was staring at her a bit more clearly now, like he was waking up. She gave him an unimpressed look.

“Go,” she tilted her chin towards the stairs. “Catch some Zs. Your mom’s been slipping me more than enough free pizza to hold you over for like, two months worth of babysitting.”

It should be noted how out of it Kofi must have been to only numbly accept the help, completely ignoring everything else as he stumbled up the stairs, not even bothering to strip his baby vomit shirt.

She wasn’t much help on her feet these days, but she could do this -- rock a baby or two, try not to wince at their screams, avoid imaging herself in Kofi’s exact position four months from now.

Kiki and Jenny, with their matching yellow rabbit onesies, stared up at her with wide baby brown eyes. Kiki had a dark birthmark across her shoulder and, with them so young, this is the only way to set them apart. That was kind of cute. She vaguely wondered if they’d always stay so the same.

The shop would open back up three days later, exactly a week after Afia had packed up her toothbrush and a change of clothes and used the tip money jar to buy herself a single bus ticket.

Vidalia, true to her word, would spent most of the months leading up to her sixteen hour labor in the Pizzeria backroom, two drooling girls on her lap, or in the occasional waitress apron when Nanefua was looking a bit too worn.

The Pizzeria. The beach. That fucking van.

Vidalia still gets free pizza from the shop, and hangs out in the back while she does so, even if it makes that vein in Kofi’s forehead poke out when she puts her boots on the counter. Years later, he tells her that she’s where Jenny inherited too much of her personality from, and the Vidalia doesn’t even attempt to not look pleased by that.

* * *

After a month and a half calling that number, and just as Greg is beginning to complain about the lack of change in his cup holder that was apparently preventing him from mastering the drop claw at Fun Land, Marty finally answered.

He actually let her explain it all without interrupting, which honestly surprised her the most about the whole ordeal. After their brief few day fling all those months ago, the only thing she could probably say certain about the other man was that he loved to listen to himself talk. Even during the sex, he was blabbering away about himself and her and their bodies together.

But he listened, he waited, and then he hung up without another word.

She walked back to Greg’s van, stupidly grateful he was off with his magic girlfriend so she could get a few pregnancy tears in peace without him fretting around in concern.

But it was only a week later, she and Greg still curled up in sleep despite the noon hour, when there was a quick, crisp knock on the van door, and they were sleepily blinking at each other in question.

She doesn’t know how the guy found her, if he had to ask around or if he was just planning on dropping the manila envelope off with Greg -- Marty’s only contact within the city -- and hoping for the best. But he only handed off the bundle, not bothering to answer any of their questions, before speeding back away on his motorcycle.

Greg peered over her shoulder for a quick moment before deciding they needed some breakfast, probably just to give her some alone time to look through it all, and hopped out the van, shirtless from sleep and only in a pair of ratty gym shorts. He was good like that.

It was a check. A large check, with a pretty colored note explaining that this was a one time thing, no repeats so don’t try, all you have to do is sign this paperwork and you can have it.

Paperwork that directly released him from any further parental duties.

But, the note promised her, if she didn’t, if Vidalia went after him or his money or his fame, she’d be in court for the rest of her pregnancy, and weren’t those legal fees just the worse? So expensive, especially if the other party decided to drag it out.

She is six months pregnant and given a choice.

A choice that she doesn’t have to think much of.

She would take the check. It wasn’t enough for forever, not from a guy like Marty, but it was enough for her to grab her shit and put down a first payment for a tiny two bedroom on an okay street, with a bit of yard and neighbors who didn’t automatically wrinkle their noses at her.

Vidalia was smart with money. From a town like hers, you had to be. She bought generic, stayed home most nights, and saved everything she could. It wasn’t enough for forever, but it was enough for now. It was enough to get a roof over her head, to grab a fuck ton of diapers, to load up her cart with those tiny glass jars of the good stuff -- the stuff that made babies brains grow or whatever -- and it was just enough for more of those pink bottled vitamins. She would have to get a job soon after the kid was born, but not right after. She could save enough for those few months at the beginning for when a babysitter from across the street couldn’t cut it, and she could do it. Taking the money, the _leave-me-alone-forever_ check, wasn’t much of a thought. Her pride was worth nothing in the long run. Her pride couldn’t feed her kid or mortgage a house or pay bills. This, the line of numbers that read back to her from her bank statement, this could. She could do this for her kid. Her son, because she knew it was a boy, she knew it in her stone cold heart that was just beginning to flare up every now and again when he kicked.

Marty would be back to chasing shorter skirts in no time, if he ever really stopped. He’d be hopping towns like they hopped themselves up on those good drugs he bought from the city. Maybe he’d get rich. Maybe he would actually discover the next big star like he told her, maybe this and that and whatever next girl he was swinging his arm around and smearing her lipstick.

And he could have all that.

Vidalia, as she smoothed her hands over her barely round stomach, only wanted _this_. Him. The best she could give him.  

* * *

“I’m just saying Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks have like, the best onscreen chemistry in all of showbusiness right now.”

Vidalia only rolled her eyes, “You’re just saying that because you’re a sucker for rom-coms, Universe. If we’re talking about actual talent, sure, Tom Hanks could make the list -- I mean, did you see _Saving Private Ryan?_ Shit -- but your romance for Meg Ryan doesn’t automatically put her -” She paused, shifting in place.

Greg gave her a concerned look, “You good?”

She took a breath, nodding. “Yeah, it’s just still weird as fuck when he kicks.”

Greg grinned at that, like he did at every mention of the baby. “Can I -?”

She was already nodding. At least he asked - she nearly right hooked a random tourist when they began fawning over her, their hands automatically going to touch her.  

“He’s a chill little fella,” Greg was smiling, his hand over her swollen stomach. “Hardly kicks at all.”

“My dad said I was crazy, in the womb.” Vidalia didn’t know why she was telling him this. “Never stopped moving.”

“Well, _yeah_.” Greg only gave her a fond look, leaning back to reach for his guitar. He absentmindedly begin strumming at it, a mostly unannoying habit of his.

Vidalia crossed her arms. Her back was against the other side of the van, leaving them across from each other. This was one of her last nights here, before she could move into that normal house on Seashell Dr. She was feeling more nostalgic then she could ever let on - Greg would never let her live it down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” Greg gestured uselessly, “You’re _Vidalia_. You’re not just gonna sit still, or take anything without a fight. You’ve got more life in you then anyone. And I’ve met _aliens_.”

That was probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said about her.

She sniffed, her hands a wrinkled mess in her lap at she clenched at herself. _Fuck_ pregnancy hormones.

“Aliens, huh?” She took a sip of her drink. “You’ll have to bring me around some time, let me get a good look.”

Greg only brightened at that, perking up in his slouch. “That’s a great idea! Oh, you’re gonna _love_ Amethyst, seriously -”

She leaned away on to the door, her back aching. Maybe he was right - maybe she would like these friends of his. If they were anything like Greg himself - practically a golden retriever in kindness and positivity - they couldn’t be too bad.

It was be cool to see where all his crazy song ideas came from, anyways. Maybe she’ll stop by.

* * *

It’s in the middle of babysitting on a Monday when Kiki first rolls from her stomach to her back.

Vidalia immediately jumps up -- well, as immediate as an eight months pregnant woman can do, and starts calling for Kofi and Nanefua, not caring the lunch rush was just beginning to start up.

They both burst through the door, wide eyes like expecting a catastrophe, and only blink a few times in relief as she explains.

They then they start nearly screaming in excitement.

They laugh and beam and hold Kiki up as they gush over her little fat baby body. Jenny gets passed around and teased and kissed on both cheeks, and both babies are smiling and giggling despite having no idea about anything but the love in which they’ve being smashed with.

Kofi, always a bit sad at milestones like these, manages a few laugh and grins and pokes at his own baby girls before the customers are yelling up the staircase and he’s rolling his eyes.

Nanefua leaves them all with lipstick kisses on their cheeks, Vidalia being the only one who cares enough to wipe off the color with a teasing look as she leaves.

Alone with the babies again, Vidalia only turns on them with a wide smile, and realizes that this -- the swollen feet, the stretch marks across her hips and stomach, the aches and sickness and everything worse -- it was all kind of maybe worth it.

* * *

She goes into labor on a Thursday, and in this way it feels almost as a full circle. But it also feels like the worst 16 hours of her life as she’s split apart and alone and crying and screaming with stranger’s hands on her. Her mother does not show up, even as she asks the nurses to call just one more time.

She’s alone for most of it, for more than half of it, but not all of it. Nanefua must have figured it out when she didn’t show up for babysitting, or maybe Greg when she didn’t answer his persistent knocking, but halfway through in the middle of a particularly horrible splitting of her body, she looks up and finds Nanefua pushing her way into the delivery room, strength ablazen in her eyes that Vidalia wasn’t even aware that she needed to borrow.

Nanefua lets Vidalia clench her hand in a bone crushing grip for nearly six hours, calm faced and composed as Vidalia screams and cries and sweats her way through three hospital gowns.

* * *

He is born on a Friday.

Friday, her favorite day of the week, because of what is yet to come.

He is born on a Friday.

* * *

Greg is in the waiting room, she later learns, where he paced and stood and brought tea and warm milk to Kofi and the twins when they visited. He is the third person she chooses to let hold him - her kid, who’s quiet and sleepy and whose feet the doctor’s have to slap to get him to cry out. It was her, then Nanefua, and then Greg, with his wild hair and beaming, watery eyes.

“He’s beautiful, Vid.” Greg told her, Nanefua going to relieve Kofi from twin duty. They were alone in the room. The nurses kept calling Greg the father when they came in, and despite Vidalia rolling her eyes and correcting them, Greg didn’t bother once.

The weekend is ahead, and she’s already heard from Nanefua that Kofi is arranging a small surprise welcome home party in her two bedroom. He bought the twins new dresses for the occasion, and Greg is scheduled to play a few songs. Nanefua is making her signature accra banana peanut cake, and has already scheduled herself for two weeks of babysitting duty.

Her mother doesn’t show up, and her father is dead. She has no siblings or close cousins. But still, in this tiny beach town on the edge of sand and water, she finds herself a family.

**Author's Note:**

> give me a slightly interesting minor female character and ill obsess over them and write an angsty found family backstory in a single night.  
> god, i fucking love steven universe. it's finals week but tbh i needed this.  
> Sorry if it's a bit choppy but if I don't post it now as is i'm going to keep working on it AND I HAVE TO STUDY OR I MIGHT DIE 8 AM ON TUESDAY  
> follow me on tumblr at rosyredlipstick.tumblr.com (although mostly pjo and writing related posts) or my main blog at hotsaucedreams.tumblr.com  
> happy holidays!


End file.
